


Oh Momma, I'm in fear

by Halighfataliter



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halighfataliter/pseuds/Halighfataliter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game is over and Robb wants to say, sorry, I'm sorry Mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh Momma, I'm in fear

The clamour of the crowd is like thunder to Robb’s ears. He blinks against the sudden glare of the sun and staggers forward, chains heavy at his feet. Before him the Great Place is teemed with people, angry fists and angry eyes in an endless sea of faces. They cry for murder,  _traitor, traitor_. Silence comes and goes. Time is a fiddle thing.   
  
Robb longs for the fiery burn of anger but the fight is over, burning battlegrounds and pools of blood shining under the sun. His Northern lords swing low along the battlements bestowed to the winds and the ravens. The air stinks of death.   
  
A strong hand closes on his shoulder. It bends his back gently and Robb lays his cheek upon the dented block. Under the rush of his blood, his breath is loud and shallow and Robb counts every one of them. A gleam of red catches his eyes,  _Sansa_ , and then his gaze falls on the kneeling figure next to him. Her hands are bound but she sits straight and proud; her eyes never leave his.   
  
 _Mother_ , his lips move around the familiar name.   
  
Robb swallows the sob blossoming in his chest. He is no king at that moment. He is but a little boy who played a grown up game and lost.  _Sorry, I’m sorry Mother_ , he wants to say. The blithe days of Winterfield are long gone, Jon at his back, Theon standing tall on empty barrels; the thuds and creaks of their clashing swords. The blade is cold iron this time and feels blunt on the nape of his neck. An odd kind of disbelief flutters broken wings in his chest. He sees his mother’s chin tremble and-

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt:
> 
> Robb Stark (+ Catelyn Stark)
> 
>  _Ma, Ma--look what I did, Ma. Look what I did to my hands, I broke 'em. You gave me the stone, gave me the chisel, didn't say how to hold 'em. Didn't say to give away every piece of the puzzle 'til I was left with nothin'. Look it, mom! No hands. I built this suit of armor with wooden arms._ (Sea Lion - Sage Francis)


End file.
